1939912059 (R) (14 page)

Gérard choked, grabbed her hand and lowered it against her thigh in reprimand. “Try not to get us into trouble.”

She paused. “Am I not allowed to comment on what people wear? Pardon me for being a woman. I notice these things.”

He kept pushing the horse through the crowds. Everything coming out of her mouth was an adventure. “That cap signifies he is in support of the new Republic. Do not comment or try to engage them, because they are all like roaches. Where there is one, there is a hundred. And whilst I wish I could boast that my fighting skills are that of God, I cannot very well fight a hundred men on my own and in your honor. Do you understand?”

Concern edged into her voice. “They would try to fight us? Merely because I commented on his sense of fashion?”

Gérard tightened his jaw in an attempt to remind himself she was new to what was happening in Paris. “Any comment can be construed as you supporting
Sa Majesté
. So never comment on those caps. Ever. These bastards are bold. They forget they still have a king. Be he in prison or not, he still lives.”

A boisterous group of young men sharing what appeared to be several large bottles of stolen champagne out of a crate, paused in unison. Some shifted against the brick wall they were propped against. The entire group stared at them.

Or rather…they stared at Thérèse.

All fourteen of them.

Gérard instinctively tightened his arms around her and veered his horse to the other side of the street. He cued his horse into a quicker pace lest he start shooting their eyes out.

A few whistled as others nudged each other to keep looking.

One of the young men holding a bottle of champagne, stumbled forward, gaping up at them as he tried to keep up with their horse. “My heart will never be the same.” He set a dirt-crusted hand on his narrow chest and scrambled forward, his scuff-whitened boots trying to keep up as he held up the bottle he held. “
Mademoiselle
, my heart tells me we have met before. In a dream, I dare say! And in that dream, I knelt before you and kissed your hand well over a dozen times after you promised to be mine. Marry me, so we may have a dozen children as beautiful as you!”

Gérard’s lips parted. He didn’t know what astounded him more. Seeing men act like buffoons after a mere glance at Thérèse or the fact it
bothered
him knowing other men were interested in
being
buffoons in her honor. Whilst, yes, she was insanely attractive, and he himself had trouble resisting, he thought she had been exaggerating about the men.

She wasn’t even on stage yet.

Shite. “Step away,” he rumbled out in warning.

The young blond only kept running beside them at a sprint, glancing up at Thérèse. “What is your name,
mon amour
?” he called. “Assure me this outdated fop is not your husband or I will take a pistol to my head for it! He does not even appear to be capable of providing you shoes!”

Jésus. Gérard glared down at the man, trying to keep the horse at a respectable pace so they wouldn’t fall off. “Being capable of providing her shoes is not my problem,” he delivered through teeth. “So I suggest you keep sucking on that champagne and leave off. Leave off, or I will damn well jump off this horse and—”

Thérèse elbowed him hard. “There is no need, Gérard. Allow me.” She leaned slightly toward the blond still running beside them and primly offered in a honeyed voice, “Come see me at the opening night of ‘The Delights of Life’ this Friday evening at
Spetacle des Variétés Amusantes
on
Rue St. Antoine.
It will be short-lived given I will be going on to a bigger stage, so bring all of your friends, and I promise to sing a song for you and only you.” She scrunched her nose in an excessive form of flirtation and then blew him an ardent kiss with the pucker of lips.

Gérard sucked in an astounded breath at her tasteless attempt to advertise her cousin’s theatre.

The youth stumbled and grabbed at the air as if she had actually thrown something. “I will be there with all of Paris,
mon amour
!” He turned back to his friends and jerking to a halt, guzzled more champagne that dribbled down his unshaven chin before throwing up an arm in mocking triumph. “Long live the Republic and its beautiful women whom I adore!”

Gérard shifted his jaw in a riled attempt not to get off the horse and use all five of his pistols to show what he thought of this new Republic. Barely a few weeks earlier, he had saved a young woman from being raped by a massive man who held her face to the ground shouting, ‘
Prove yourself to the Republic
!’ He almost killed the son of a bitch. Given there were too many others watching, however, Gérard could only grudgingly rope the bastard to a lamp post after a few good kicks to the head and demanded no one untie him for a week. It won him an applause and even a few pats on the back, despite him being an aristo.

Of course,
this
champagne-guzzling dunce had been encouraged. By Thérèse, no less.

He half-shook her. “What the devil are you doing? If you think I am incapable of control, you just introduced yourself to rape with that one. Christ, you— That was tasteless and uncalled for. Are you telling me you always tweak your nose at every man in the name of making money?”

She glared. “Of course not. But what was I to do? Let you fight some halfling in my honor whilst thirteen others watched and would have joined in? I was protecting you, is all. How is that wrong?”

His pulse hitched. Why did he like knowing she had protected him? It had to mean she had a bit of regard for him. Maybe even more than a bit. “You do realize that idiot will expect to see you now.”

She patted his forearm. “And he most certainly will.
After
he pays for it. I can afford to give him two minutes after the show and toss a song at him. It is what an actress does. After he gets his song, he gets escorted straight out of the building by burly men with knives Rémy hires to protect his talent. My cousin told me all about how they deal with unwanted admirers. So you need not worry.”

She pushed her braid over her shoulder, smacking his face and glanced back at him, her large blue eyes brightening in earnest. “Advertising to the right people is the only way to ensure Rémy’s success. And his success is my success. And my success is
your
success. I cannot very well gather the information you want by treating these men with disdain, can I?”

Everything about this woman made him want to grab her face and kiss her until neither of them knew the difference between heaven or hell. He wanted to rip her gown in half, leave bite marks on that skin and—

She still peered up at him from over her shoulder. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

His nostrils flared in an attempt not to do all the things he was thinking. “I am not looking at you at all.”

She smirked, her eyes brightening. “Oh, yes you are.” She set her chin. “Admit it. Without me, you are
nothing
.”

It was obvious she was well aware of how much control she had over him and was glorying in it. Gérard jerked her against his body as tight as he could so they were both aware of what his body was capable of.

“Without me,” he returned in a growling tone, “you are
also
nothing. I suggest you remember that when I drape diamonds and pearls on your neck.”

Her chest rose and fell against his hand. “You are pinching my skin.”

He swallowed and eased his grip. “Forgive me.”

She puffed out a breath. “You almost popped both of my breasts out of my corset.”

“I beg to differ. They do that on their own. I suggest buying yourself a larger corset with the money I give you.”

She elbowed him hard.

He rolled his eyes and glanced out toward passing buildings.

A large wooden plaque with the words
Spetacle des Variétés Amusantes
made his brows go up and his lips part. He slowed his horse to a halt. The sign, boasting crudely painted but shapely female legs in red wool stockings, was affixed to the façade of the building with more nails than was needed. A long line of men – and
only
men – waited to purchase tickets.

A dark-haired gent selling the tickets, busily went from person to person, collecting coins in exchange for the papers he ripped. “Hold onto that there ticket,
citoyen
.” He pointed to the single door painted red. “No entries today but nay do fear. Friday at seven will be the first of this showing, and not a single one of you will want to miss it! New talent this time. New talent. Come see the new face of the future Republic. With but a glance, she will steal what little you have of your heart!”

The man enthusiastically kept nodding and going down the line as others left with their tickets. He tapped his bright blue felt hat forward, displaying the tri-colored cockade pinned to it and flicked it with a bare finger. “If any of you gents need yourselves a cockade, I most certainly sell those, too. They are in a crate inside. Buy three, and this here ticket is free, free, free.”

It was obvious the man was a peddler of all trades.

That bright blue hat was seriously mismatched against the man’s foppish striped green and pink clothing. Clothing that was much too tight for his stocky frame. Everything bulged in all the wrong places in an attempt to free the rolls of fat beneath. Even the stretching flap on his trousers appeared to want to rip the buttons off.

“
Rémy
!” Thérèse called out, cupping the side of her mouth with a hand. “Look at this bit of
bourgeoisie
coming into town! I arrived on my own steed!” She set her shoulder and chin toward him to better display herself on the horse she sat on. “And I have this lusty highwayman to thank! He made love to me twice!”

Gérard choked as every burly man, including the ticket seller, known as her cousin, turned in unison to gape. “What are you—”

“Play along.”

“Right.” Leaning back, he grudgingly slid off the horse and landed onto the cobbled street with a thud. He ensured his mask stayed in place by tugging at the binding and knot behind his head twice. Removing the satchel which held the documents, he bound it tightly around his shoulder and chest to ensure it was protected.

He wasn’t in the forest anymore.

Without meeting her gaze, he tied the horse to the lamppost with the leather reins. Taking her basket, he set it onto the uneven pavement leading to the entrance of the small theatre and reached up for her waist. “Lean toward me, if you please.”

She pertly leaned toward him to make the descent possible. “Like
so
?”

The tops of her round, large breasts pushed against the fabric of her décolletage, giving him an overly generous display that made him all too aware that if he willed it, they could be his. Every night. For the rest of his life.

His chest tightened. “You did that on purpose.”

Her mouth quirked. “Enjoy the view while you can.”

It was like she was putting on a far bigger show than he wanted.

Grabbing her, he lowered her and settled her bare feet onto the pavement, releasing her. He leaned in. “Try not to overexert yourself, dearest.”

“You paid for it.”

He shifted his jaw, wishing she would let him see past the tawdry actress she always seemed to play. “Is this who you really are? Is money all you care about?”

Her ocean blue eyes softened and took on the persona of someone he had yet to meet. She leaned in close. “If money was all I cared about, I would have never kissed you.”

He swiped at his mouth in an effort to keep calm. He could tell she meant it. Leaning in close, he whispered, “Be careful. Never allow yourself to be alone with any of these men. They will only want one thing from you.”

“The same thing you did?”

He stared her down, his heart pounding. “I will ensure nothing happens to you. I will be watching over you even when you think I am not.”

She searched his masked face, her features softening. “I appreciate that.” She hesitated. “Despite what I said earlier—” A breath escaped her. “Maybe we can still make time for each other outside of all this smoke and fire business. We probably should get to know each other.”

He angled toward her and almost grabbed her face and kissed her, sensing she was giving him another chance. She was…forgiving him. “I would like that.”

A few whistles from the man standing in line drifted toward them. “Show us that there talent,
citoyenesse
! Come now and lift that skirt and shake an ankle at us!”

Gérard rigidly swung toward the men who were rattling their tickets and legs toward her. His gloved hands fisted.

“Refrain and say nothing.” She squeezed his arm hard. “Welcome to the elaborate farce known as my life. Men act like this around me even when there is no stage. And that,
mon grand
, is a sad truth I have long accepted.” She patted his arm one last time. “Until we meet again…” She sashayed past and over to her cousin, abandoning the basket she left at his booted feet.

A breath escaped Gérard as he watched her shapely figure make its way toward the crowd of men. Her derriere swayed beneath the wool fabric of her skirts tauntingly matching the jiggle of her corseted breasts. He almost bit his hand in an attempt not to keep looking at it.

She spread her slim arms wide, greeting the long line of men as a beautiful melody, almost too lush and perfect to be real, suddenly breezed from her lips. “I have at last found
loooove
…and now that I have seen what it can
dooooo
…all I will ever ask…is that you
neveeeer
break
my heart
…in…
twooooo
.”

Gérard couldn’t breathe.

Everything about her was surreal. It made him want to believe in the beauty of everything again. A beauty he didn’t think existed amongst the chaos of Paris and his life. And twisted though it was, he…well…he actually
wanted
her to be pregnant. Just so he could see her singing to their child at night, its small head peacefully cradled in the crook of her ivory arm.